


Fates of the Force

by starkjoy



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Game of Thrones-Inspired Unrealistic Travel Standards, Lore with a Grain of Salt, M/M, Mystery, Partners to Lovers, Post-Season/Series 02, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:34:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28446219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkjoy/pseuds/starkjoy
Summary: Six months after Grogu's rescue, an unexpected encounter launches Din on a quest throughout the galaxy—one that may alter his fate forever.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker
Comments: 188
Kudos: 513





	1. The Stranger

**CHAPTER 1: THE STRANGER**

  
“100 credits for the processor, take it or leave it.” 

Sweat rolls down Din’s forehead, droplets slithering over his flushed skin like snakes through sand. He shifts, deflecting the sun’s heavy glare from his visor, and his neck grinds under the weight of heavy Beskar.

“Leave it, then,” Din grunts, turning away from the droid depot stall. 

The shopkeeper—a scruffy, rotund man wearing a necklace fashioned from empty battery shells—scrambles from behind the stand and interrupts his path. He holds both hands up, pleading. “Wait, Mando—I swear, I need your help!”

Din sighs. He craves his ship’s air filtration, a much-needed cold shower, and the cot in his cramped yet comfortable quarters. But the hunk of metal he’s been flying for the past few months isn’t nearly as reliable as the _Razor Crest,_ he’s learned; ever since the stint Greef Karga sent him on in Batuu, his engine’s been sputtering. According to the technician he consulted earlier, if he wants to go further than 2 parsecs outside Jakku without the entire vessel combusting, he’ll need a replacement. Engines are expensive. He doesn’t have time for spendthrift peddlers.

“You’re asking me to search the desert during Hot Season and retrieve a droid part from a hostile group of Nomads.”

“I hear Mandalorians are the best,” the man explains in his lilting accent, “that you can do anything. Is that not true?” 

“It’s true for at least 200 credits.” Din turns to leave, but the shopkeeper blocks him again.

“Okay! Okay,” the man concedes. He mutters something in a native tongue Din can’t understand, but he guesses it’s something akin to _bastard_. “I can do 175 credits and...,” he scrambles through a tin of machinery on the cart beside him. “Two first-edition data chips for your droid,” he finishes, lifting two silver tokens from the pile. 

Din pauses, considers the offer. “I don’t do droids. 200 credits.” 

The shopkeeper purses his lips. “Fine.”

“And I want 150 now, for insurance.” 

Anger flares on the man’s face, fluffy brows furrowing above dark eyes. He exhales through his nose and begrudgingly digs into the money pouch tied at his hip. A meaty hand pulls out six 25-piece credits, offers them up to Din like a reluctant plate. 

Din accepts the pile and slides it into his satchel. “I’ll make the trip tomorrow.” 

The man nods. “I will have the remainder of your bounty then.”

“Good,” he answers. He’s not looking forward to hours in the blistering desert, but retrieving the processor shouldn’t be too complicated once he locates the Nomad camp. Hostile or not, Din knows how to negotiate without immediately devolving into violence. If it does come to that, he’s not concerned—but there’s always a risk.

“What do you need this processor for anyway?” he asks.

“A new model. I bought it from a specialist in Mokuu Outpost last week, but it was stolen from me by those _demons_ as I was leaving.”

“And you’d rather pay me to track it down than buy another one?” 

The man crosses his arms. “It was custom made! It would take weeks to commission another. The model is for a client, I am finished if I do not deliver!” 

“Right,” Din monotones. _I must be the cheaper option._ “In that case, I’ll collect 50 more credits when I return.” 

He leaves before the man has a chance to argue.

◌ ◌ ◌ 

Din switches on the air filtration system as soon as he’s inside his cockpit, lowering the toggle down two notches to adjust the temperature. The circular vent beside him thunks suspiciously, but after a moment the fan kicks to life, cool air slowly spiraling from its blades. 

“Piece of junk,” he grumbles.

The draft trickles through the fabric between his armor plates and teases his heated skin. Desperate for relief after hours under the Jakku sun, he places both hands on his helmet and pulls upwards. He’s barely over his nose when a sharp pain shoots down his neck and across his left shoulder blade. Wincing, he halts and curses himself internally—he’d been ignoring the tenderness in his neck for months now. Not that there’s much he could have done aside from work it out with stretches and his own hands. He’ll deal with it later.

Din gently manages the helmet the rest of the way off and places it on the dashboard. With a deep exhale, he sinks onto the seat below him and drags a gloved hand through his matted hair, careful not to trigger his shoulder. He should shower, get a few hours of sleep before tomorrow’s job, but for now he’ll settle here. 

Leaning his head against the back of the seat, he closes his eyes and relaxes his aching bones; the thinly padded cushion provides more comfort than he’s allowed himself in weeks, even through his bulky armor. Before Jakku, he’d been on a two-week stakeout on Takodana tracking a smuggler. He’d planned on returning to Nevarro after he completed his mission—to collect the bounty he’d earned on Batuu from Karga—but shortly after departing the planet, his engine started acting up again. Hence the emergency landing on Jakku, hence the desperation for more credits. If he’s lucky, he’ll locate the Nomad camp within a few hours tomorrow and be 250 credits richer by end of day. Totaled with the rest of his earnings, the reward should be enough to pay for a new engine and an astrotech installation service. He’ll have to visit Nevarro next; he won’t be able to afford much else without collecting his bounty.

He opens his eyes.

Nevarro. Karga. Cara. He rarely sees them anymore, aside from when he makes the occasional stop for a bounty puck. Karga’s had his hands full with the Guild, Cara with the New Republic. He’s occupied himself with bounty after bounty, avoiding the laser sword secured to his hip and thoughts of Bo-Katan returning to claim it. He has no interest in its power, nor his alleged claim to the throne of Mandalore. He hasn’t even turned it on since he defeated Gideon.

Swallowing, Din reaches his hand into his satchel. He carefully removes the small shifter knob, raises it into his view. Rolling it between his forefinger and thumb, he watches as the light above catches on its silvery surface. A swell of affection immediately blossoms inside his chest—the warmth flows outwards, threatens to choke him. 

It’s been over six months since that night on Gideon’s ship. Since Grogu placed his tiny hands on his face, since he let him go with the Jedi Knight, as so deemed by Creed.

“Hope you’re okay, kid,” he murmurs.

He slips the knob back into his satchel. When he glances upward, his eyes meet his helmet. His Beskar reflection stares back at him. Muted, but present.

◌ ◌ ◌

The trip to Mokuu takes about two hours by speeder. When he arrives, he finds a bustling trading settlement filled with sandstone shops and market stalls—far more populated than the sparse village where he landed. No wonder the shopkeeper had to make the trip for a special gadget. 

He walks up to the nearest citizen, an older woman carrying a basket of oblong vegetables. 

“Ma’am.” 

The lady freezes, eyes going wide at the sight of the taller, armor-clad Mandalorian. “I—I have done nothing,” she stammers in a thick accent. 

“Not here for you. Where can I find a droid specialist?” 

She blinks, relief casting itself plainly on her wrinkled countenance. “You mean Dengo Gorma. His shop is all the way down on the left side,” she directs nervously.

Din nods.

Gorma’s shop stands tall at the end of the street, its stone entrance adorned with sand-weathered droid heads. As much as he’d prefer a droid’s dismembered head to a functioning machine, the display’s even too macabre for his own tastes. Pushing aside the fabric hanging from the door jamb, Din steps into the shop. An automated bell chirps melodically, alerting others to his arrival, but the space remains empty. Waiting, he inspects his surroundings: droid parts dangle from hooks across the walls and ceiling, and shelves of components stack behind the front desk. _Must be the expensive section._

After a few moments, the beaded curtain in the doorframe on the right wall _clinks_ apart, revealing a heavy-set Weequay with purplish, leathery skin. He wears wraps of linen in the simple desert tradition, but ornately beaded strands of silvery metal intertwine with his long, black braids. His gaze settles on Din, assessing his form. 

“Eh, who’s this? A bounty hunter?”

“Mandalorian,” he corrects, although the statement was technically true. 

Gorma nods, curious. “And how can I help you today?” 

“My client bought a custom-built processor here last week. It was stolen from him by a group of Nomads as he was leaving.” 

The Weequay’s eyes widen. “Ah.” He walks toward the front desk and leans against it, arms crossed. “Only sold one processor last week, I remember it well. Fancy one that.”

“Did you witness the robbery?”

“No,” Gorma answers. “Guy came in, paid me, and left. Not really Nomad style to enter the market, but it’s not unheard of.”

Din hums. “If a Nomad group were to come here, where would their closest camp be?”

“Has to be somewhere in the Uncharted Sea. But...” Gorma trails off and sighs. 

“But what,” Din prods. 

“Could be anywhere. It’s called the Uncharted Sea for a reason. Nobody goes there, no one’s ever mapped it.” 

“Because of the Nomad threat?”

“Not all of ‘em are hostile, you know. Misconception. But before the war, yes. Most avoid it now out of superstition. And if not because of that, well, the desert heat takes more lives than any living being.”

“Superstition?”

“It’s a graveyard,” Gorma explains. “The airspace above was occupied during the Battle of Jakku.”

“I see.”

Gorma scratches at his horned chin. “There’s a sunken warship visible to the naked eye beyond the western edge of town. I’d enter the Sea from there. Nomads might hang around the ship, which could lead you to a camp.” 

_At least it’s something._ “I have what I need.” 

“I’ll take that as _‘thank you.’_ Be careful out there, Mandalorian.”

Din nods before turning around and leaving the shop. 

◌ ◌ ◌ 

Navigating the Uncharted Sea proves to be as frustrating as he feared—exhausting, hot, and unfruitful. He quickly located the massive half-sunken destroyer Gorma mentioned, but it was abandoned; from what he could see, nothing but sand had touched the thing in years. Maybe Nomads had raided it after the Battle of Jakku, but no footprints, curious items, or clues indicated any living beings had been nearby recently. He departed the ship and journeyed north, speeding further into the endless desert.

It’s been two hours and his scanner still hasn’t picked up any life forms or settlements. He’s flying blind; he could turn any direction and the move would yield the same chance of being a success or failure.

On a hunch, Din switches gears and turns the speeder toward the west, heading away from Mokuu. After witnessing the true expanse of the Uncharted Sea, he can’t imagine any Nomad group would traverse this much desert for a damn droid processor—fancy or not. They must have targeted the outpost and robbed as many people as possible, grabbed anything that seemed valuable. Gorma said that doesn’t happen often. If a market raid is their rare heist, they’re probably not settled nearby.

Another hour passes with no readings. As the sun begins its decline, sky dimming to pink and orange hues, Din’s scanner beeps. 

Settlement. Small. Less than a mile away. 

_This has to be it._

Hope renewed, Din accelerates the speeder and heads to the coordinates revealed by his scanner. Within a few minutes, he spots several large huts and a freight transporter in the distance. 

_Nomads._

He arrives at the camp without any resistance; in fact, not one Nomad leaves their hut to investigate despite the sound of his speeder. Admittedly he knows little of Nomad customs—perhaps they sleep at sundown? The docked transporter means they can’t be out raiding.

Curious but apprehensive, Din raises his hand above his blaster, ready to draw if need be, and slowly approaches the nearest hut. He activates his visor’s heat scanner so he can count how many are inside.

_No results._

He programs the scanner again, but this time lengthens the survey field to the entire camp.

_No results._

Din angles his head toward the transporter, zooms in the survey field. 

_No results._

Din carefully pulls his blaster from his holster and points it ahead, on guard. He steps toward the nearest hut and slowly pulls open its door flap. 

It’s completely empty.   
  
_Well, might as well take advantage of their absence._

Blaster drawn, Din searches the hut for any sign of the processor. When that proves fruitless, he moves to the next hut, which is also empty. Hut after hut yields no results—both in Nomads or the processor.

Din exits the final hut empty-handed and frustrated. He’s half tempted to end his quest and still charge the shopkeeper for his effort—Din knows when to concede if a hunt spirals in a hopeless direction—but he gave the man his word. He’ll check the transporter, but if it’s not there...well, it could be anywhere. Maybe another camp, or maybe the Nomads pawned it off elsewhere. He’ll need to return to Mokuu for additional intel. Otherwise he’ll waste more time blindly exploring the open desert. 

As he walks to the transporter, a gust of wind blows toward him, sending swirls of sand into the air that cloud Din’s vision. He lifts his unoccupied arm in front of his head, attempting to block the particles _tinning_ against his helmet like coarse rain. The wind becomes so intense he feels himself inching backwards, unable to move against its power. 

He’s about to turn around, use the wind’s propulsion to head back toward the huts and take shelter until the storm subsides, when the wind stops as suddenly as it began. Slowly, Din lowers his arm and watches as the sandy clouds dissipate, settling back into sea from which they were born. 

That’s when he sees it. 

Standing in the heat-blurred distance, stark against the orange horizon, is a figure swathed in black.

Din watches as the figure suddenly disappears, then, like a glitch in a hologram, reappears a few meters closer. Hairs behind his neck prickle with unease and a chill sweeps down his spine. _What is this?_

He doesn’t want to risk waiting to find out, but in case it’s not hostile he doesn't want to shoot without learning more—not that his blaster will do any good this far out. His Amban rifle and spear rest inside the speeder, he’ll collect them and return. He turns around quickly—

Din freezes, heart kicking. 

The figure stands directly in his path. This close, he can tell the figure is humanoid, covered in a dark, fraying cloak, face obscured under the shadow of its oversized hood. Despite the arid desert around them, cold air enters his lungs. 

Heart hammering, Din whips up his arm, tightens his grip around his blaster. “Don’t move or you’ll regret it,” he commands.

The stranger lifts one of its arms, sleeve slipping toward its elbow, revealing a hand wrapped in thick, black bandages.

_“I said don’t move.”_

Suddenly, like the vacuum of space ripping through a breach, something sucks the air from Din’s lungs.

As he struggles to inhale, Din’s blaster flies from his hand, as if an unseen force flung it from his grip. With all the might he can muster, he raises his arm and activates his flame thrower. The fire blazes forward, hits the figure square in the chest, and Din falls to the ground.

He didn’t realize he’d been floating. _  
_

_These powers..._

Air fills his lungs as he scrambles upwards. Every cell in his body screams for him to leave—fighting this thing can’t end well if its powers are anything like the Jedi’s. Panicking, he opens his vambrace keypad and shakily enters the code to activate his jetpack. 

Before he can get the last key in, the figure jumps forward—stopping only inches before him. It clenches its fist and Din’s jetpack begins to collapse, thick metal sucking into itself and digging into his back. Only seconds pass before the whole thing ruptures, propelling Din across the sky and into the ground. 

He barely pushes himself upwards from the desert floor when the stranger appears on top of him, forcing him back into the sand. The world swims, head pulsing and vision blurring from the impact. He fumbles with one hand, desperately attempting to activate his rockets. 

In a flash of black fabric, the stranger presses its hand flat against his helmet, blocking his visor. An intense force pulses over his face before Din’s entire body sears in pain. 

Glaring sun pours through cracked Beskar as sand sucks down his throat. Delirious, Din flails his arms and legs, punching and kicking the stranger with all his remaining force—but the shrouded attacker won’t budge. It places both hands on the sides of his helmet, pulls it from his bare face. 

Pain clouds Din’s thoughts, controls his body. He writhes. As if his ears exist outside of his own body, he can hear his own screams echo throughout the desert. 

Something pricks at the edge of his mind. Breaks through the agony like a single stream of light in a raging storm. It calms him, tells him the answer, but it’s so soft, he cannot hear it—

Then he understands. 

_The Darksaber._

With renewed strength, he reaches to where the laser sword is attached to his hip. His hand can’t quite grasp it through the pain, but when he latches onto the feeling at the edge of his mind, his fingers manage to wrap around the handle. He angles it from his belt and presses his thumb aimlessly against the metal, frantically searching for the switch.

Silence hangs heavy between them before the blade’s dark light erupts with a blazing hum, slicing through the figure’s body.

And like that the stranger disappears. 

Chest heaving, Din waits in case the threat returns, but only wind and sand remain. He should get up, get up _now_ , return to his speeder…

Din rolls his head to the side. His destroyed helmet is the last thing he sees before all goes black. 

◌ ◌ ◌ 

Howling wind. 

Sand whizzing against his armor, biting his bare skin.

Someone nearby—no, above him.

Warmth on his face.

Din stirs. 

“Stay with me,” a voice murmurs. He’s heard it before, somewhere…

Slowly, he cracks open his eyes. It’s dark, but through his blurred vision he makes out parted, feathered hair. A pair of light eyes.

An arm snakes its way behind his head, cradling his neck. “I’m getting you out of here.” 

Din falls back into unconsciousness.


	2. The Falcon

**CHAPTER 2: THE FALCON**

  


A distant ache tugs Din from his slumber. Shadows swirl as the discomfort draws close, settling within his bones. He inhales deep, pushing himself through the veil of unconsciousness, and releases his breath. Pain remains where darkness ebbs. 

Din opens his eyes. 

His vision swims, hazy and nebulous.

He blinks. 

A dim, cylindrical light sharpens into focus. It casts a gentle glow overhead, illuminating the space around him: panels of patent leather frame the alcove in which he rests, a hollow nook built into the wall of a sparse quarter. Shifting, he recognizes the comfortable support of a mattress against his back, the softness of a pillow beneath his head. Nearby, a low _hum_ drones.   
  
_I’m in a ship’s bunk,_ he realizes.

Glancing down, Din studies the blue bedspread draped over his body like a warm cocoon. Vambrace and pauldron removed, his right arm rests atop the blanket, sleeve rucked up around his bicep. A thin, intravenous tube stems outward from the crease of his elbow, secured in place by an adhesive bandage. His gaze follows the tube’s path to where it filters inside a rotund machine sitting atop the bedside table.

Like a wave crashing to shore, Din remembers. 

The peddler’s bounty. The Stranger’s attack. The Darksaber. 

His helmet.

Din raises his left hand to his cheek. When his fingertips graze bare skin and stubble, his stomach knots with dread. 

Panic rising, Din pushes himself upward. He winces as his aching muscles struggle to adjust to the upright position, but he manages to slide himself to the edge of the bed despite the discomfort. Twisting, he peels away the blue blanket and kicks his legs over the side of the bunk. He notices his boots have been removed, but before he can question their absence he has his answer—a few feet ahead, stacked neatly in the corner, are his things. 

Din yanks the needle from his arm and slips from the bunk, socked feet dropping onto the cold floor. Determined, he ignores the pain calling him back to bed and crosses the room toward his belongings. 

Sand-worn boots sit on the ground below his Amban Rifle and Beskar spear, which tilt out from the wall in a careful balance. On the table beside them rests the remainder of his items: his right vambrace and pauldron, his belt, satchel, blaster, Darksaber. His cape, folded neatly.

And his helmet nestled atop its layers.

Sorrow claws its way up from Din’s gut, constricts around his heart like a shameful vice.

While the helmet’s back frame still holds intact, the visor has been split by a large, jagged hole. Slowly, he reaches out and places both hands on either side before lifting it to his own height. Meeting himself halfway, he leans forward and rests his forehead against the fragile remains of cool Beskar. 

That thing may have caused this damage, but his weakness gave it the opportunity. The fault lies only with himself—

“Din.” 

Startled, Din’s offensive instincts kick in: he drops his helmet to one hand, grabs his blaster with the other, and whips around, arm extended. 

Beyond the barrel of his blaster, Din stares at the man standing in the doorway across the room. His heart stills.

Dressed in a black turtlenecked ensemble, the man raises both hands before him in surrender—one bare and the other gloved in leather. Sandy-bronze bangs hang above matching brows and round, light eyes. “Easy,” he says, stepping forward tentatively. “I mean you no harm.”

Memories from the night on Gideon’s ship reemerge—the monitor broadcasting a cloaked crusader, doors opening at his arrival, hood falling backward to reveal a fair-haired, lean man.

_The Jedi._

The man tilts his head to the side gently, bangs drifting. His stare flickers with understanding. “Yes, it’s me.” 

Questions race through Din’s addled mind as he drops the arm pointing his blaster, but only one makes its way to his tongue. “Where’s Grogu?”

“He’s safe,” the Jedi replies, lowering his hands. “You’ll see him soon, I promise.” 

Din darts his eyes around the quarters before returning to the Jedi’s calm gaze. “Where are we going? How did I get here?” 

“You need rest,” the other man says in lieu of an answer, gesturing his gloved hand back toward the bunk. “I’ll explain in time—”

“You can explain now.”

The Jedi straightens. He sighs through his nose, then nods. “Come with me,” he murmurs before turning around and heading through the doorway. 

Din hesitates, mind still reeling. Reluctantly, he places his blaster back onto the tabletop. He considers bringing his helmet, but there’s no point; he can’t wear it in its current state without potentially damaging its fragile hold further, and even if he could, the massive hole would do nothing to obscure his face. With no other observable choice, Din returns the helmet to its place atop his folded cape and follows the mysterious Jedi across the room. 

Keeping his distance, Din walks behind the Jedi as he leads them through a dark, curved hallway. They step into a connecting corridor before entering another curved passage, as if they’re tracing the circumference of a large circle. The hallway opens up to a room bathed in dim, yellow light—what seems to the main hold of the ship. 

The Jedi motions to a large circular booth wrapped around a holo game table. “Please, sit,” he instructs before walking behind a bar-top in the corner.

Din inspects the booth’s worn patent leather suspiciously, but lowers himself down anyway to appease his protesting muscles. As the other man pours something from a large kettle, Din’s nerves bristle at the thought of spending an undetermined amount of time unmasked—the longest he’d done so was with Mayfield. The combination of shame, awkwardness, and anxiety during that operation was uncomfortable to stay the least, but he’d do it again if it meant saving Grogu’s life.

For months, Din's wrestled with his conscience: he upheld the Way by returning the foundling to his people, but broke that same Creed by removing his helmet in the process. He’s still not sure how to reconcile the two, still can't determine if one trumps the other or if they balance out. It'd be easier to decide if he could buy the lie he's been trying to sell himself— that his decisions were for Grogu’s sake alone.

Now, however, there’s no villain to thwart or foundling to father. Only himself and his own failure lie in wake of the Jedi’s presence, and Din finds himself clueless on how to proceed. A fleeting thought comes with a small relief: the Jedi saw his face once before. And if he trusts this man with Grogu’s life, then he can trust in his discretion. 

“I’m no cook,” the blonde says as he approaches, cradling a steaming cup of liquid between his two hands. He sits down on the opposite end of the booth from Din and slides the ceramic tumbler across the table. “But this will help with the pain.”

Din reluctantly accepts the offering, circling one hand around its warmth. He angles it slightly to inspect its contents and watches as murky green liquid flows toward him. Not sure if the concoction is tea or some kind of soup, he takes a cautious sip. The taste is bitter, but as the liquid settles in his stomach his pain begins to dull.

“What do you know of the Jedi?” the blonde asks, diverting Din’s attention away from his drink.

Din swallows, clears his throat. He thinks back to when Bo-Katan asked him the same question. “Not much.” 

The Jedi nods once. Inhaling in preparation, he rests both elbows on the table and interlocks his fingers. He exhales. “For centuries, the Jedi were guardians of peace. They used their powers for good, wielding the Force only to protect and maintain order within the Galactic Republic. But there were others who sought to bend the Force to their will—the Dark Side. Under their influence, the Empire rose to power and executed the Jedi. Only a few remained, scattered across the galaxy.

Several years ago, I was trained in the ways of the Force by two of the remaining Jedi. When they passed, I believed I was the only Jedi left—and that the legacy of my people fell on my shoulders alone. I promised myself that if I ever met another Force-sensitive being, I would take them in as my apprentice and begin rebuilding the Order. So when Grogu called out through the Force, I knew then that my destiny was to find him and train him as my padawan.”

The Jedi looks down at his interlocked hands, then continues. 

“According to texts I’d found on my journeys, as well as counsel from my own Masters, Jedi should be free from all personal attachments. That way there’s less risk of them using their powers for selfish means and falling to the Dark Side. I myself was skeptical of the old code, but given Grogu was my first student, I wanted to be safe.” 

He looks up, eyes catching Din’s. “That’s why I did not disclose my identity or destination to you that night on Moff Gideon’s cruiser, in case you or your party attempted to locate us in the future. I see now I was misguided. I apologize.” He pauses, unwinding and re-twining his fingers. “My name is Luke Skywalker.”

The Jedi— _Luke_ —waits, round eyes searching Din’s. _Is he expecting an answer?_

“Seems you already know mine,” Din replies awkwardly. 

As if an invisible weight has lifted from his shoulders, Luke relaxes. He leans back against the booth. “Grogu told me.” 

“Through your, uh,” Din waves his hand. “Force powers?”

A smile tugs at the corner of Luke’s mouth. He nods. “He talks about you every day. He’s very fond of you.” 

Din swallows over the lump in his throat. _Every day?_ “He’s a special kid,” he manages, praying his face doesn’t look as hot as it feels.

“He is,” Luke echoes. “And he’s the reason you’re here now.” 

Din furrows his brows at the man’s cryptic statement.

The Jedi leans forward again, resting his bent arms atop the holotable. “Din,” he continues, “what do you remember about what happened in the desert?” 

Heart picking up speed, Din fiddles with the cup still nestled in his grip. Everything went so fast—the Stranger’s sudden appearance, its powerful assault. He hides his nerves behind a shrug.

“A figure in a black cloak attacked me. It had powers like yours. It destroyed my jet pack…my helmet.” Din swallows, pushing down the guilt threatening to spill into his throat. “But then I remembered I had the—one of your kind’s um, laser swords, with me. When I struck it, it disappeared.” 

Silent, the Jedi drifts his eyes from Din’s down to the table below. He stays like that for a moment, quiet and still in contemplation, then returns his gaze. “Grogu and I were meditating when I sensed great fear in him,” he begins. “I searched his mind and discovered that he had forged a connection with you. He told me your life was in danger, so I tried to connect with you myself. That’s when I felt a disturbance in the Force.” 

Luke pauses, taking in a breath, then proceeds. “I had a vision: you lying on the desert floor, screaming. I reached out, but I wasn’t sure if you could feel me. Grogu had mentioned you were in possession of a lightsaber and I thought maybe you would understand. It seems you did.” 

Hairs prickle at the back of Din’s neck. He remembers a voice calling to him at the edge of his mind, remembers realizing he needed to use the Darksaber. “That…that was you?”

Luke nods.

“After that, my vision went dark,” the Jedi continues. “I sensed your survival was uncertain, so I left to find you before it was too late. Grogu begged to come along, but if you were somehow tied to this disturbance I couldn’t risk bringing him.”

“How did you know where I was?” 

“I sensed you were on Jakku, but your exact location was unclear,” the Jedi explains. “I followed my instincts.” 

Lips parted, Din attempts to make sense of Luke’s answer. “You left with no coordinates…on a feeling?”

“It’s a bit more complex than that, but yes.”

“Why?” The words leave Din’s mouth before he can consider otherwise. Embarrassment heats his cheeks.

Luke stares at him, eyes brimming with an earnestness Din can’t look away from. 

“To rescue you, of course,” he answers easily, as if it’s the simplest question he’s ever been asked. 

A lost memory awakens: wind whipping sand across Din’s skin, two eyes shining above him in the dark. _I’m getting you out of here,_ their voice had said. The fragment shifts into place like a missing page returning to the spine of its book, and Din realizes that the voice and the man before him are one and the same. 

“I—” he stutters, failing to find the right words. Overwhelmed with knowledge that calls his understanding of the universe into question, Din struggles to grasp the Jedi’s story fully. But what he can understand is this: if it weren’t for Luke, he’d still be lying in the Jakku desert—lost and left for dead.

“Thank you,” Din finishes, hoping the Jedi understands the sincerity behind his few words.

A smile ghosts over Luke’s lips. “Like I said, it was Grogu who first sensed your pain. You can thank him when we return.” 

“Where would that be?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Luke says.“Yavin IV.”

 _“Yavin IV?”_ Din repeats, incredulous. “How long was the trip to Jakku?”

_And how long was I unconscious?_

“Nine hours on hyperdrive,” Luke answers. “Trust me, I know it doesn’t look like much,” he continues, gesturing a hand to the room, “but the Falcon—”

As if speaking its name invokes chaos, the ship rumbles and shakes, lights flickering wildly before returning to their previous state. Din almost spills his tea-soup. 

“Blast it,” Luke curses, annoyance cracking through his composed demeanor. “I spoke too soon,” he mumbles to no one in particular. The Jedi pushes himself up from his seat and strides over to the opposite hallway from which they entered. “Artoo!” he calls into its darkness.

Within moments, a small blue and white astromech droid rolls into view, beeping melodically. Din recognizes it from the night on Gideon’s cruiser. Even so, he can’t help the instinctual discomfort that tightens in his chest.

Luke glances over his shoulder and catches Din’s skeptical look. “He’s friendly,” he says, as if reading Din’s mind. 

“What happened?” the Jedi asks the droid. It chirps loudly in response, head rotating back and forth before ending on a low _weeeeewooop._

“The negative power coupling again? I thought Han—you know what, never mind. Just fix it. Let me check on Chewie first.” 

As if remembering himself, Luke turns back to Din. “I’ll return in a moment,” he says before walking off into the dark hallway. The droid follows suit. 

Din blinks.

_Chewie?_

He swirls the tumbler in his hand, swishing around the now lukewarm liquid like a mini whirlpool. Given his pain decreased after his first and only sip, Din figures Luke wasn’t exaggerating when he said it would help. He takes another drink, longer this time. 

Luke returns to the main hold a few minutes later. “Sorry about that,” he says, looking a tinge sheepish as he retakes his seat at the booth. “Chewie says we should be landing in about two hours.” 

A rush of anxiety swells from Din’s chest. Chewie is a _person?_ The only relief he’s held onto during this whole _kriffed-up_ situation was the fact that Luke—and his droid—already saw his face once before. That if he broke his Creed to the point of no longer being considered Mandalorian, at least he wasn’t adding another witness to his list of failures. 

Luke tilts his head gently. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Din answers too quickly. _Dank farrik_. He can’t hide it—he has to know. “Chewie…?” 

“Oh, Chewbacca,” the Jedi answers. “He’s a friend. I knew I wouldn’t fit you in my X-Wing, so I borrowed the Falcon from my brother-in-law. He’s very _protective,_ so he wouldn’t loan it to me unless I agreed to take Chewie, his co-pilot. But I’m glad to have the help.” He pauses, eyes inspecting Din like he’s some puzzle to be solved, and frowns. “What’s wrong?”

Din’s leg bounces beneath the holotable. He wants to deny the question, say nothing and move on, but he suspects the Jedi would sense that he’s lying. The man flew across the damn galaxy to save his life—he owes him the truth at the very least.

He looks up, catches Luke’s curious look. “Did he see me? When you brought me in?” 

“No,” Luke responds. “Only myself and Artoo. Why?” 

Din leans back against the patent leather cushion. It doesn’t provide much comfort through his armor, but the solid feeling anchors him as his nerves calm their anxious firing. “It’s nothing. Never mind.” 

It’s quiet for a beat, then Luke speaks again. “Your helmet,” he says, gaze flickering with understanding. “I apologize, I didn’t know. Grogu, he never—”

“It’s fine,” Din interrupts, cheeks blazing.

“I—should I not look at you?” 

Din swallows. For a moment he considers the offer, but the damage has already been done. He shakes his head. “I already broke my Creed in front of you. That was my choice. I just…I want to avoid any others. If I can, that is.” 

“So when I met you, that was…”

“The second time I’d ever done that,” he answers.

“Ever?”

“Since I was a child. This is the Way.” 

Speaking those words feels hypocritical at this point, like praying to a God he’s scorned one too many times. But they’re familiar, easy, a prayer more for himself than any higher power. He still wants to believe. He just doesn’t know which Way is the right one. 

Luke’s lips part as if he wishes to ask something else, but he stops himself before he does. He nods. “I see. The figure you described—it destroyed your helmet with the Force?” 

“Don’t know how else it would break through solid Beskar.” 

“Hm,” Luke hums, gaze drifting nowhere in particular as his mind focuses elsewhere. Concern laces his expression before he snaps out of his trance, looking back at Din. “I have an idea,” he says before leaving the booth and disappearing down the corridor from which they entered.

He reappears a few moments later with a black garment draped over one of his arms. He walks over to Din’s side of the booth and offers him the piece of clothing. Din blinks, confused, then realizes it’s the Jedi’s robe. Unlike the Stranger’s frayed garb, Luke’s cloak is clean and tightly woven—it seems expensive, special, tailored for the Jedi and no other.

“I’m a bit shorter than you, but the hood’s large,” Luke says.

Din shakes his head. “I can’t accept this. It’s yours.” 

“Please,” the Jedi continues, “at least until we find you something more suitable. I don’t mind.” 

Reluctantly, Din accepts the cloak. Hoping the Jedi isn’t expecting him to try it on now, he rests the folded layers on his lap. “Thanks.”

“It’s no problem,” Luke says. They stare at one another for a long moment until Din breaks the spell, casting his eyes awkwardly to the wall. 

“Well,” the Jedi begins, filling the dead air. “I should relieve Chewie for a bit, he’s been flying for a while. I can tell him to stay in the cockpit—”

“No, I’ll go back to the quarters. It’s fine.” 

Luke nods. “All right. Well, please get some rest. We still have a few hours left.” 

“Sure,” he answers, knowing he’ll get nothing of the sort. He’s too keyed up, mind bursting with information he’ll spend the rest of their journey over-analyzing like a defunct droid. 

Din suspects the Jedi senses the same. 

◌ ◌ ◌

They land on Yavin IV approximately two hours and twenty-seven minutes later. 

Luke comes to warn him when it’s almost time, Artoo trailing behind the Jedi like a beeping shadow. Knowing Chewie— _Chewbacca, whatever his name is_ —will be making an appearance, Din quickly dresses himself: he puts back on his vambrace, pauldron, satchel, belt, and boots, slips his blaster into his holster, and secures the Darksaber to his waist. Wearing his own cape as well as the cloak seems like overkill, so he uses it to swaddle his broken helmet in a safe bundle to avoid any further damage travel might incur. Gently, he fits it inside his bag. 

Din waits to sling his Amban rifle and spear over his shoulder until he’s secured Luke’s cloak over his body. The material hangs a bit short and the weightless hood feels foreign compared to heavy Beskar, but it conceals his face well enough. 

When the ship lands, he walks out from his quarters and into the main hold. Luke’s already waiting there, dressed no different save for the lightsaber now hanging from his hip. He looks Din up and down with a quiet expression.

“Does it fit well?” he asks.

“It’s fine,” Din grunts. “Thanks,” he tacks on, for politeness. 

A throaty, guttural wail sounds to Din’s right, nearly causing him to whip out his blaster. He’s thankful he doesn’t however, because a tall Wookie holding a bowcaster—Chewbacca, Din guesses—steps forward. 

“Din, this is Chewie,” Luke says, introducing the pair. “Chewie, Din.” 

Chewie wails again. 

“Um, hello,” Din replies. 

“Well, shall we?” the Jedi asks, motioning toward a passageway Din assumes leads to the exit.

Din breathes in cool, night air as they walk down the boarding ramp. Even in the dark he recognizes the docking bay as New Republic-owned, spotting their symbol pasted against the side of a structure in the near distance. Luke never mentioned being part of the Rebellion, but given he flies an X-Wing and has a tendency for saving complete strangers, Din’s not surprised by the revelation.

The hangar's just one portion of a larger complex that surrounds them, stacked with buildings Din assumes are both commercial and residential. Hopefully he hasn’t gotten on anyone’s bad side around here, though he can’t remember dealing with anyone from Yavin IV specifically in the past.

A dark green speeder pulls up before them and parks a few feet away. A small woman wearing a tan poncho hops over the side, one hand planted on her hip as she waits for them to approach.

“Brought you your speeder, as requested” she calls, tossing the keys through the air with her free hand.

Luke catches them without problem. “Thanks, Leia.”

“Anything for my brother,” she answers in good humor. She gestures at the Falcon. “I see you managed not to destroy my husband’s one true love. He’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

“I was very careful,” Luke says with a smirk. “Tell him he needs to replace the negative power coupling though.” 

_“Again?”_ Leia asks, her surprise a mirror of Luke’s earlier exclamation. “Whatever, I’ll blame it on Lando.” She moves her dark eyes toward Din, inspects him the same way Luke had on the ship. “You must be Grogu’s father.” 

Din’s thankful for the hood—his cheeks flare under the sudden attention. “Uh,” he says eloquently. 

Luke turns toward him. “This is my sister, Leia Organa. She helps watch Grogu while I’m away.” 

“That’s not the only thing I do, for the record,” Leia adds. "You’re lucky. The kid’s very well behaved.” 

“I find that surprising.”

Leia laughs. “You haven’t met my son. Speaking of, I should get back. Han’s probably teaching him how to play Sabacc again. You coming Chewie?” 

The Wookie moans and walks over to her, waving back at Luke and Din as he departs.

“You don’t want a ride?” Luke asks. 

“Need the fresh air!” she calls, walking backward while still facing them. “Talk to you later!” 

Luke waves as his sister and the Wookie turn around and link arms, heading toward a large residential building in the distance.

“I don’t live in the main complex,” Luke explains as he lifts Artoo into the speeder.

“Where do you live?”

“In the jungle. More privacy,” he says, hopping into the driver seat. “Won’t take us longer than 15 minutes.”

Din nods, then joins the pair in the speeder. 

◌ ◌ ◌

Luke’s home is a modest series of small, interconnected rooms. It seems newly constructed, clean stone walls rounded in the modern style, but it’s inconspicuous among the large boulders that decorate the edge of the jungle clearing—as if it was designed to complement the setting’s natural beauty. 

After parking the speeder, they walk up to a storm door Din assumes is the entrance. Luke waves his hand in front a keypad whose colored, square lights dance before beeping green. The door shoots open and reveals a dining area: a rounded kitchenette with herbs hanging from the ceiling fits snug against the wall while a round stone table paired with metal chairs occupies most of the room. 

A golden protocol droid stands with its back to them—it turns around, lifting an arm. “Oh, Master Luke! You’ve arrived. I do hope you had a safe journey. And you must be the Mandalorian.” 

Luke gestures between them. “This is Threepio. He’s even friendlier than Artoo.”

The little droid whines at the statement, red light blinking in defiance. 

“Well, perhaps if you worked on your manners Master Luke wouldn’t say such things,” Threepio says to Artoo. 

“Come,” Luke says to Din, hand briefly touching his elbow to catch his attention. He follows the Jedi as he leads him through another room—a cluttered library with books strewn over every surface—until they reach what he assumes is Luke’s private quarters. A single bed and nightstand rest against one wall near a door Din guesses leads to the refresher. He looks to the opposite side of the room and sees a clothing dresser, a lamp…and an elevated crib. Two green ears suddenly appear over its edge, followed by a pair of curious, bright eyes.

“Grogu,” Din breathes. Without further thought, he pushes back Luke’s hood and strides across the room.

The child’s eyes widen, ears perking up as he recognizes Din standing above him. He stands, little hands reaching up as high as they can go. _“Bwuuuue!”_ he coos, smiling wide.

A warmth unfurls in Din’s chest and rolls through his body like a calm wave. Gently, he lifts the child from the crib and cradles him in the crook of one arm. Grogu reaches out again, close enough now to pat Din’s chin with his small claws. _“Bwuue,”_ he repeats, softer. 

Din lifts his free hand and brushes his tiny face with one finger. “I missed you, kid,” he murmurs. 

After a moment, the child removes one claw from his face and reaches it out over Din’s shoulder instead. Confused, Din turns his head and glances behind himself—he sees Luke still standing near the entryway, respectfully keeping his distance. 

With a noise of insistence, Grogu stretches his arm out toward his teacher again. Din understands—he thinks—and angles his body toward Luke so that they’re facing him more directly. Din feels a rush of self-consciousness as he meets the Jedi’s eyes—he’s never revealed his face this many times, he’s never had prolonged interactions with anyone without the protective boundary of his helmet. Despite his nerves, he knows there’s no point in hiding what’s already been seen. He’s made his choice.

When Grogu coos again, Din nods at the Jedi, signaling his permission to approach.

Luke walks across the room and settles beside Grogu, still cuddled in Din’s left arm. He lifts his gloved hand and begins stroking one of his ears. The kid places his free claw over his fingers, stilling the motion, and Luke's lips quirk into a smile.

Din blinks. “What’s he saying? Is he saying something?”

Luke looks up, light eyes— _blue,_ Din realizes, standing this close—meeting his own. “He wants to show you something he’s learned.” 

“Oh. Okay,” he responds. He swallows. “Let’s see it.” 

Luke seems to contemplate the request, or he’s telepathically chatting with Grogu, or both. Din can’t tell.

“It’s too dark for the stones, shall we improvise?” Luke says. 

Din has no idea what that means or whether Luke’s asking him or the child. He doesn’t wait long for his answer, however, because the Jedi leaves his side and walks back toward the library. Din follows, Grogu babbling happily in his arms. 

Curved shelves cover the walls of the small room, both books and curious items Din can’t identify stored within their hold. Books litter the desk tucked between two bookcases, as well as the couch and side table near the kitchen entryway. 

“Place him here,” Luke instructs, gesturing to the rug in the middle of the floor. He squats down and releases the kid, who waddles off as if he knows exactly what he’s supposed to do.

Din stands and watches as the child closes his eyes and lifts up one of his hands, claws extended. 

Slowly, as if possessed with life, each misplaced book lifts into the air. Din’s mesmerized when they begin slowly spinning, pages flowing as they rotate on their axes. Then, like a ship thrusting into hyperdrive, each book snaps shut and zooms across the room, sliding back into their appropriate slots within the bookshelves.

Grogu lowers his arm and opens his eyes. He stares at Din expectantly.

Din squats back down to the floor and pats the child’s head. “Wow kid, I’m impressed.” 

“He’s a very good student,” Luke says from where he’s leaning against the wall. Din turns his head, finding his gaze. “And a quick learner.” 

“He’s not tired at all,” Din adds, noting the obvious.

Luke nods. “We’ve worked on his control. Each day he gets stronger, and with time he will be able to do much more without exhausting his energy.” 

Din turns his head back to the kid. “I’m proud of you, Grogu."

The child preens himself under his attention, snuggling up to the arm still caressing the soft hair at his head. Din collects him into his arms and returns to his feet.

“Well,” Luke begins, pushing himself from the wall, “it’s late. You should get some rest. Please make yourself comfortable in my quarters,” he adds, gesturing back to the bedroom. 

Din blinks, unsure how to respond.

“The bed and refresher are yours, there’s another off the kitchen I’ll use. And the couch is more comfortable than it looks,” he clarifies. 

He wants to offer they swap arrangements—the man saved his life, he doesn’t deserve to take his bed too—but his bones have been aching ever since they walked through the door, whatever he drank on the ship finally wearing off. Din imagines Luke wouldn’t accept anything otherwise, anyway.

“Thank you,” he answers. 

A silent beat passes between them. Awkward and unsure what to say next, Din begins to turn toward the bedroom entryway, but Luke reaches out—gloved hand not quite brushing his armor, but close enough that it halts him in his tracks. 

“Wait,” the Jedi says. He hesitates, searching for the right words. “Tomorrow we should talk. There’s…more we need to discuss about what you saw in the desert.” 

Din swallows. That doesn’t sound good, but right now he doesn’t have the energy to question his meaning. “Okay.”

The Jedi lowers his arm.“But for tonight, please rest.” 

Din nods. 

◌ ◌ ◌

When Din emerges from the refresher, armor discarded as he prepares for sleep, he finds Grogu snuggling a pillow on top of the bed. 

“How’d you get up there?” 

Grogu cocks his head, brown eyes shining in the dim light. 

He walks over to the bed and picks Grogu up, then deposits him back inside his crib where he left him. “Stay here.”

The child blinks. 

Sighing, Din runs a hand over the kid’s head, caresses the tip of one of his ears. “I owe you a thank you. You saved my life."

Grogu closes his eyes, relaxing under Din’s touch. A thought perks up at the back of Din's mind as he watches. “Be right back,” he whispers before striding across the room to where he left his things.

Lifting his satchel from the floor, he slips open an inner flap and grasps the shifter knob hidden within its pocket.

“Have something for you,” Din says as he walks back, lifting the knob into view. The kid’s eyes open wide and his ears perk all the way up as he recognizes his favorite toy. _“Bwue,"_ he coos, reaching out.

Din releases the knob into Grogu's clutches, fingers brushing against his little claws. “Kept it safe,” he says. “Told you we’d see each other again.” 

Grogu blinks up at him. “Get some sleep,” Din murmurs. 

Later, when Din’s already in bed, he feels pressure against his shoulder. Half asleep, he cracks open his eyes—Grogu’s curling up against his side, knob cradled in both hands. He focuses his mind on Grogu’s warmth beside him before his eyes drift closed, darkness embracing him as he passes back into unconsciousness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reunion we've all been waiting for...
> 
> Comments keep me motivated (and help me write faster). Thank you so much for reading!


	3. The Revelation

  
**CHAPTER 3: THE REVELATION**

  
Din wakes to an empty bed the following morning; only a wrinkled impression in the blanket scrunched by his side leaves evidence of Grogu’s former resting spot. Curious if the child returned to his crib, Din presses his palms into the mattress and gently pushes upward, careful not to trigger his tender back. 

His legs ache as he walks toward the bassinet, yesterday’s _tea-soup_ as well as the medicine Luke administered intravenously no longer active in his system. Unsurprisingly, he finds it unoccupied as well—Grogu must have woken and left the room, as he suspected. _Probably looking for breakfast,_ he guesses. 

In his exhaustion last night, Din forwent a shower in favor of a quick wash in the sink. Uncomfortable at the thought of exiting Luke’s room unkempt and armor-less, especially without his helmet, Din enters the refresher. He certainly needs a shower now, although given the state of his bodysuit he doubts bathing will do much to mask its smell. He should have packed fresh clothes, but he’d left them on his ship—

 _His ship._ Until now, he’d forgotten about the stranded vessel. Even if Luke had found its location, he couldn’t have flown it from Jakku with the engine tanked. Thankfully, Din keeps his weapons and money on him at all times, so he’s not missing anything critical, but he still wonders about the ship’s whereabouts. He’ll ask the Jedi later. 

Once in the shower, the water’s warm spray soothes the pain concentrated in his neck and back. When he emerges, dripping a puddle onto the Jedi’s rubber bathmat, he catches himself in the mirror: his wet hair hangs heavy against his forehead, his mustache and stubble need grooming, and several scrapes mark his cheeks where his helmet cracked open. Bruises splotch over his bare torso, memories of the Stranger’s attack made visible on his skin, but the worst of it paints his upper back—a mottled, reddish-purple bruise where his jetpack ruptured.

Din pulls a clean towel from the rack on the wall and pats himself down carefully, avoiding any strenuous movement. Once dry enough, he slips back on his underclothing and bodysuit, then pads barefoot into Luke’s room and straps his armor back into place. He finishes with his boots, then exits. 

With a direct line of sight into the kitchen from the library, Din sees that the storm door is open, bright sun and warm air seeping into the small home. Squinting, he spots four silhouettes against the sunlit backlighting: Luke, Grogu, the two droids.

He walks into the kitchen and settles near the entrance, leaning against the open door jamb. Close enough to see the group clearly, Din observes the two pairs: the golden protocol droid and its astromech sidekick watch from the right side, while Luke and Grogu stand side-by-side straight ahead, backs facing Din’s view. Suddenly, like last night’s book display, four medium-sized boulders lift into the air in the distance. They shift, switching order, then gently float back to the ground.  
  
_Those_ are the stones Luke mentioned last night? 

“Well done, Grogu,” Luke says, turning to glance down at the child. Bending slightly, he hands his student what looks like an oversized hard-boiled egg. “You’ve earned this.” 

The child reaches up, cooing in joy, and grasps the egg from the Jedi’s grip with both hands. He wastes no time in claiming his reward: he takes a large bite from the top, morsels spilling from his tiny mouth onto the grass below. The Jedi laughs. Din feels a smirk at his own lips. 

Then, as if the tiny expression exposed his presence alone, Luke turns his head and catches Din’s gaze, laugh faded to a soft smile. Grogu must sense him as well—or Luke says something via their _Force-telepathy-thing_ —because he turns to look Din’s way, too. The child lowers the egg from his mouth, forgoing his hunger to waddle toward him instead. 

Din pushes himself away from the doorjamb and walks onto the dirt path leading toward the grassy knoll where the four stand. He meets Grogu half-way, then bends down and pats the child on the head. 

“Hey kid,” he greets, looking into Grogu’s bright eyes. “That was amazing.”

Grogu babbles something incomprehensible, then lifts the half-eaten egg toward Din’s face. This close, he notices the yolk is neon blue. “Like your reward, huh?”

“Good morning, Mandalorian Djarin!” the golden protocol droid— _Threepio, was it?_ —calls from above. Din looks up and sees that Luke and the droid pair have approached as well, so he returns to his feet. 

“We’ve been waiting for you to awaken,” Threepio continues. “I do hope you slept well and that Master Luke’s accommodations were to your liking.”

“I uh, I did,” Din answers, not quite meeting anyone’s gaze. “The accommodations were good.” 

“Glad to hear it, Mandalorian Djarin. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to be of service. I am an expert in human-cyborg relations and am fluent in over six million languages.” 

Din blinks. “That’s…thanks.” 

“Well, I think that’s enough training for now,” Luke interrupts, saving Din from his conversation with the droid. “Threepio, Artoo, will you watch over Grogu while we step inside for a while?”

“Yes, Master Luke, of course,” Threepio answers. The droid angles itself toward Grogu. “Come on, little one. We can play that game you like.” 

Artoo beeps in agreement and Grogu’s ears perk up. 

“Thank you, Threepio,” the Jedi says. 

Grogu stares up at Din, as if waiting for permission to join the droids rather than follow him back into the house. Din assumes Luke intends to speak with him alone, so he shakes his head. “It’s okay, go ahead,” he says. 

_"Batuu,"_ the kid coos, waddling off toward Threepio and Artoo. He chomps off another bite from the egg, then hops in excitement as Artoo begins blinking his lights.

Luke leads Din back inside the kitchen. The blonde walks to the stove where a kettle and a large pot sit side by side. “Figured you’d be hungry,” he begins, flipping on the two burners. “Just need to warm these up, though I’ll warn you again—I’m no cook.”

“I’m used to rations, so I don’t mind.”

Luke glances back at Din with a smirk, bronze bangs shifting softly with the movement. “Please, sit."

Din follows his instructions with relief, glad to rest his sore muscles. 

“Should only be a minute,” Luke says, turning around to join Din across the table. He doesn’t sit; instead, he rests both hands—one gloved, one bare—over the back of the chair. He’s wearing a similar outfit as yesterday, except now he’s missing his sleeveless outer vest. A flap of his turtleneck hangs unfastened, white interior stark against the black outer material. “How are you feeling?” 

Din shrugs. “Been better.” 

Luke cocks his head toward the stovetop. “I have more tonic. Did it help yesterday?”

_Ah. Tonic._

“Yeah, it did. More would be good.” 

Luke nods. “Good.” 

A beat of silence passes, both men parting their lips to say something, but neither following through. “Grogu’s delighted to see you,” Luke starts.

“Me too,” Din answers. “He seems happy here.”

A quiet smile quirks at the corner of the Jedi’s lips. “He is,” he confirms. “He’s doing very well in his studies.” 

“I can tell. Thank you for taking care of him.” 

Luke’s smile spreads further, rounded lines now dimpling into his cheeks. “Of course. It's my duty to care for him, but frankly I enjoy his company. He reminds me of my own Master. He was the same kind.” 

“Your Master was…whatever Grogu is?” 

The Jedi nods. “I still don’t know their species name, though I’ve been collecting research. There was at least one other on the Jedi Council years ago.” 

Before Din can ask any questions in response, the kettle begins steaming, low whistle building into a high-pitched wail. 

“One moment,” Luke says over its noise. He walks back to the stove and switches off the burners, then opens a cupboard and pulls down a tall cup and bowl. Once they’re placed on the counter, he pours the tonic from the kettle into the glass and ladles what seems to be soup into the bowl. He fishes a spoon from one of the drawers before walking back to the table with the meal.

“Thank you,” Din says as the Jedi places the items before him. The tonic looks the same as yesterday, hot and cloudy green. The soup steams as well, but its broth is clearer and filled with an assortment of vegetables Din doesn’t recognize. A sliced, hard-boiled egg with a bright blue yolk floats in the middle. 

He takes a sip of the tonic first, relishing the way his body relaxes even as it slides down his throat, then slurps a spoonful of soup. 

_Salty, but not bad._ “S’good,” he offers.

He raises a brow, huffs in good humor. “You flatter me.” 

“Surprised Grogu didn’t eat all of these,” Din adds, poking at the egg with his spoon.

Luke pulls out a chair and sits down across from Din. “The morning after I brought him here, I found him inside the fridge. He’d eaten six eggs and an entire bag of Koyo fruit.” 

Din takes another slurp from his spoon. “Not surprised.” 

Luke smirks before flicking his eyes downward. He leans forward and sets his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers together. He returns his gaze to Din’s. “There’s more we should discuss,” he begins, demeanor shifting from _friendly host_ to _serene Jedi._

Din swallows the vegetable he’d been chewing. “Okay.” 

“The figure who attacked you. What did they look like?” 

Din clears his throat. _Right._ “Tall. Dark, frayed cloak. Black bandages on its hands.” 

“You couldn’t see their face?” 

“No.” 

“Any weapons? A lightsaber?” 

“None that I saw.”

The blonde waits a moment before continuing. “Yesterday you said they attacked with the Force. I apologize for asking you to relive this but, can you describe how they used their powers?”

Fractured memories flash through Din’s mind. His back throbs, as if the thoughts triggered its pain. He sips from his tonic.

“Came out of nowhere,” he begins. “It was standing in the distance, then suddenly jumped a hundred meters toward me like…some sort of glitch. At first, it didn’t touch me. It just lifted its hand, and then…and then I was floating in the air, choking. I escaped, but a moment later it closed its fist and my jetpack ruptured. Sent me flying across the desert. It was on top of me before I could even lift myself up. It took one hand,” he demonstrates, raising one of his own to mimic the action, “and pressed it against my visor. My helmet shattered.” 

Luke frowns. He stays quiet for a long moment, gaze drifting downward. “I’m not familiar with the glitching you describe,” he murmurs. “but the rest are techniques with the Force.” 

“So it was a Jedi?” 

The blonde shakes his head. “I don’t know. It’s possible, but…” Sighing, he lifts his ungloved hand into his hair and pushes his bangs away from his forehead. He leans back against the chair. “The only living Jedi I know of are myself and Ahsoka Tano, and I’m only aware she’s alive because Grogu told me of your encounter. Before that, I truly believed I was the last Jedi. I doubt she is your attacker any more than I am.” 

Din knows the Stranger couldn’t have been Luke or Ahsoka—beyond the obvious, it was far too tall to have been either Jedi—but he’s never met anyone else with Force powers aside from Grogu. He thinks back to what Tano told him on Corvus. 

“When Ahsoka directed us to Tython so Grogu could sit on the uh, the _Seeing Stone,_ she said there weren’t many Jedi left,” Din says. “Sounded like more were out there.” 

Luke’s brows raise slightly. Din assumes the revelation carries a certain weight for the lone Jedi, but he doesn’t address it if so. “Even if that were true, I don’t think a Jedi would have done this. Attack unprovoked, use the Force so violently. Unless they—” he cuts himself off, eyes flickering. “No, it’s impossible,” he finishes, hushed words meant more for himself than Din.

The Jedi stays silent for another minute, gaze never meeting his guest’s. Whatever he’s thinking must be bad, because he almost looks like he’s going to be sick.

“You okay?” Din tries.

Luke snaps his eyes back to Din’s, a flush creeping up his neck. “Sorry,” he says. “I...I fear something terrible may have happened.” 

Heartbeat quickening, Din swallows. “What?” 

“The appearance and powers you describe, the disturbance I felt in the Force. I suspected as much when we spoke yesterday, but I didn’t…” the Jedi pauses and inhales deep, composing himself. “Din, I think your attacker might have been a Sith.”

Din blinks. “A what?”

“A Sith. One who’s mastered the Dark Side of the Force. They are ancient enemies of the Jedi, only motivated by their lust for power.”

“The Dark Side,” Din repeats, remembering Luke’s introductory explanation yesterday. “The ones who manipulated the Empire?” 

“Not just manipulated. _Created._ The Separatist movement, the Clone Wars—they were all orchestrated by one man who used the Dark Side of the Force to gain control over the Republic. A Sith Lord, but most knew him only as the Emperor.”

Not long ago, Luke’s story wouldn’t have made any sense to Din; in fact, if he’d heard such a tale he would have disregarded it as complete and utter _banthashit._ A youngling story, Rebellion propaganda. But after all he’s witnessed—Grogu, Ahsoka, Luke, now the Stranger—he believes the Jedi. But what believing him entails...it’s difficult to fathom. 

He knew there was an Emperor of the Empire, as the name implies, but he’d always assumed the man was some dusty old politician, a puppet for a larger faction’s autocratic agenda. He never thought a lone dictatorial tyrant was pulling the strings behind the scenes, let alone some sort of evil sorcerer. If a Sith masterminded the Separatist Movement and all the chaos that ensued after its birth, that means the planets destroyed, genocides committed, families ripped apart, _parents killed_ —they were all casualties of one man’s ego.

If he isn’t already dead, Din wants to kill the Emperor himself. 

“I’m sorry if I upset you,” Luke says, breaking Din from his spiraling train of thought.

“I’m fine,” he counters, voice raspy. “This is all new information for me. Please, continue.” 

Luke stares at him with concern, as if he wants to prod further, but ultimately he moves on. “The Sith live by a creed called the _Rule of Tw_ o, meaning only a Master and Apprentice can exist at any given time. The Empire fell when the Emperor and—” Luke stops himself, pausing for a moment. “When the Emperor and his Apprentice were defeated. After their deaths, the Sith were no more.” 

“So how could my attacker be one?” 

Luke shakes his head. “I don’t know. Perhaps a Jedi fell. Or maybe a lingering disciple of the Dark Side aims to renew the Sith now that the Emperor and his Apprentice are gone.” 

Din furrows his brows. “And it wanted to do that in the middle of the Jakku desert?”

The Jedi leans forward again, resting his arms on the table and interlacing his fingers. “Din, I don’t believe your meeting was by chance.” 

It takes a moment for Din to understand his meaning. Dread seeps from his beating chest and sinks into his stomach. “It was _following_ me? Why?” 

“I’m not sure.” 

“Could it have wanted Grogu? Or you?” 

“If the Sith were trying to locate me, there are others they could have targeted who are more...familiar with who I am. As for Grogu, it’s possible this has something to do with the Imperial Remnant searching for him, but I don’t know.” He looks down at his hands atop the table. “It wasn’t until I reached out to you that I felt the disturbance in the Force. My instincts tell me your attacker was after you, and you alone.” 

Din swallows over the lump in his throat. Why would this thing— _a Sith_ —be after him? Sure, he’s dealt with some morally questionable clients, but none like this. 

“The lightsaber you possess,” Luke starts, once again interrupting Din’s panicked thoughts. “Grogu mentioned you obtained it when you fought Moff Gideon.”

Din’s heart drops into his stomach. 

He closes his eyes, exhaling deep from his nostrils.

_Dank farrik._

_Of course._

“Din?” Luke questions, concern lacing his soft tone.

“The Darksaber,” he says, blinking open his eyes.

The Jedi’s brows furrow. “What?”

“The lightsaber, it’s named the Darksaber.” He reaches down to his waist and unfastens the weapon from his belt, then places it between them on the table. The Jedi’s eyes go wide. 

Luke stares at the saber, bright eyes roving over its form before flicking them up to meet Din’s. “May I?” he asks.

Din nods. 

The Jedi reaches across the table and pulls the saber toward him. He stands, pushing back the chair behind him, then steps back to give himself space. He inspects the hilt, turning it within his hold, before grasping it with his gloved hand. Then, as quickly as a lightning strike, the Darksaber shoots to life, angled blade _humming_ with dark, vibrating energy. Luke stares in wonder before maneuvering the saber with one hand, practiced and fluid as if the weapon’s an extension of his own arm.

Luke stalls his motions to inspect the blade. “I’ve never seen a saber like this,” he breathes. “I feel a darkness within its history.” He turns it off, then places its hilt back on the tabletop. “What else do you know of it?” 

“One of my companions that night, another Mandalorian named Bo-Katan, she agreed to help rescue Grogu if I let her have Gideon. But when I handed him over, I discovered her true target was the saber. She refused to take it from me. Apparently, it can only be won through battle and whoever wins it lays claim to the throne of Mandalore."

Luke stares. “You defeated Gideon…so you’re the ruler of Mandalore?”

“No, that’s not—I’m not,” Din argues. “Listen, I don’t want the Darksaber, I don’t want to be _ruler_ of anything. Even if I was, Mandalore is cursed—anyone who goes there dies.”

“Then why does Bo-Katan want it?”

“She thinks there’s still hope to restore the planet.”

Luke’s quiet for a moment, then sits back down across from Din. “Could she have done this?” 

“I don’t think so,” Din admits. “If she was ready to claim the Darksaber, she would have fought me herself.”

“Then perhaps others seek to take it from you.”

“You mean…why would the Sith want it?” 

Luke shakes his head, solemn. “It’s powerful, maybe they desire it for themselves.” 

If the Darksaber made him a target, he would have expected other Mandalorians to find him, challenge his alleged claim to the throne. But it’s been months since he’d obtained the weapon and he's heard nothing. Not one threat, not one sign of Bo-Katan. So why would the _Sith_ become involved? Why now?

“Din,” Luke begins, “if the Sith are targeting you, I think it’s best we leave.”

Panic swells from Din’s gut, replacing the fear and confusion that lingered moments earlier. “Wait, you think they tracked us here?”

“Nothing followed us, I made sure of that,” Luke reassures, blue eyes never leaving his own. “I would have sensed them if they had. But to be safe…we should leave. For Grogu’s sake.” 

Din processes the Jedi’s words. _We?_ “I won’t drag you into this. You’ve done enough.”

"I can protect you.”

He pauses, taken aback by the offer. “I don’t need a bodyguard.” 

“Whether or not your attacker was a Sith, you’ve seen what it can do. You need someone strong with the Force by your side. And if the Sith _have_ returned...I can’t just wait here. This fight is just as much mine as it is yours.” 

Din swallows, eyes trapped in a hold by the Jedi’s earnest stare. He can’t argue with that explanation; he can tell the man’s desperate, that he wouldn’t leave the child if he didn’t feel it was absolutely necessary. “What about Grogu?” he asks.

“He’s strong, but he’s not ready for this. He’ll be safe here. I trust Leia more than anyone.” 

Devastated at the thought of leaving Grogu yet again, Din drifts his eyes away, too overwhelmed with emotion to face the Jedi head-on. This feels like some twisted joke, like someone dangling his most prized possession right before his eyes, then snatching it away right when it seems within reach. But Luke’s right—they can’t bring Grogu along. After what that thing was able to do…it’s too great a risk. He won’t allow the Stranger—Sith or otherwise—near the kid. Ever.

He’d die before he let that happen. 

“Where will we go?” he asks, clearing his throat. “To find the Sith?”

Luke shakes his head. “I still sense the disturbance, but I have no way to locate its origin. Even if I did, it’d be far too dangerous without knowing what we’re getting into.” 

“So we what? Travel around the galaxy, waiting for it to attack again?” 

The Jedi looks away from Din, considering their next step in quiet contemplation. Then his blue gaze returns to his own, shining with renewed determination.

With hope. 

“We find Ahsoka.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment below with your thoughts/predictions/favorite parts/anything! 
> 
> Thank you for all the kind words so far, you guys really keep me inspired.


	4. The Tower

**CHAPTER 4: THE TOWER**

“Ahsoka,” Din repeats, confirming and questioning the Jedi’s answer in equal parts.

“Only a Jedi can help us understand the disturbance,” Luke explains. “Unless you know of any others, she’s our only hope.” 

The Stranger, the _Jedi_ and _Sith_ , the Darksaber, Ahsoka...the puzzle builds piece after piece, leaving Din no less confused than he was the step before. His reclusive streak longs to ignite his flamethrower on the Darksaber, escape with Grogu, and hide on some backwater planet where no one will ever find them. Yet, he trusts Luke’s judgment—if the Sith are as powerful as the Jedi describes, their safety wouldn’t be guaranteed anywhere, even in the outskirts of the Outer Rim.

“How do we find her?” Din asks, breaking his silence.

Luke leans back against his chair. “You met on Corvus?”

“Yeah,” he confirms. “Didn’t seem like she was staying there for long, though.” 

“I see.” Luke goes quiet for a prolonged moment, eyes flickering into the distance as if the opposite wall holds the answers he seeks. Then, the Jedi pushes back from the table and stands, chair sliding against the stone floor with a tempered _screech_.“I have an idea.” 

Din looks up, curiosity piqued, and matches the man’s gaze from where he sits below.

“It’s difficult to locate someone through the Force unless you share a bond or connection,” Luke continues. “Grogu spoke with Ahsoka. I might be able to tap into their past connection and sense her location as I did when finding you.” 

Din’s understanding of Luke’s plan is tentative at best, but he trusts the Jedi knows what he’s doing. He located Din half-way across the galaxy with his powers, after all. 

“What if you can’t sense her?” 

Luke sighs. “Then we go to Plan B.”

“Which is?”

“I don’t know yet,” the Jedi admits. He juts his chin upward slightly, gesturing toward the storm door behind Din. “We should speak with Grogu.”

Din follows Luke’s lead and stands from the table, then turns around to face the storm door. He steps forward until he spots the trio in the distance, watches Grogu bounce as colored lights flash on Artoo’s unit. 

“What game are they playing?” Din asks, glancing at Luke as he joins him near the door. 

“It’s practice, actually. It tests his ability to sense stimuli before they appear,” the Jedi responds. “Grogu guesses which color will appear next and hops accordingly—once for red, twice for blue, three times for green. Then Artoo flashes the correct answer. Normally this type of training would be done with images, but since the child’s nonverbal…well, we adapted a bit.”

Din turns his head. “He can see things before they happen? With the Force?” 

“Not exactly. If Artoo intends to flash his light green, that intention lives within the Force. That’s what Grogu senses.”

“Hm,” Din hums, gaze returning to Grogu. Something flutters in the air above the child—a butterfly or firefly, he can’t tell from this far away. Distracted, Grogu waddles off and follows the insect, leaving the two droids and their game behind. Fondness swells in Din’s chest at the familiar turn of events; the kid might be getting stronger, but he’s still a _kid_. He deserves to grow up in peace in a place like this, not in the cockpit of Din’s ship, constantly moving from bounty to bounty or evading a murderous Sith. 

“I can speak with him first, if you’d like,” the Jedi offers. 

Din returns his gaze to Luke. As much as he dreads telling Grogu their reunion will be short-lived, he knows the news should come from him. “No. I’ll do it.” 

Luke nods. “Come. We shouldn’t waste any more time.” 

When they reach the trio in the clearing, they find Grogu settled among a bed of blue flowers, nibbling on what seems to be a large firefly. Artoo beeps to signal their arrival and Threepio turns around, raising his arm in welcome.

“Thank goodness you arrived, Master Luke. We tried to stop him, but he was quite determined.” 

Grogu slurps the remainder of his prey into his mouth. He blinks, bright eyes shining with faux-innocence.

“That’s all right, Threepio. Would you and Artoo mind excusing us for a moment?”

“Oh, yes of course Master Luke. Let’s go Artoo.” 

The astromech chimes melodically in response, wheels _whirring_ as he joins his golden partner.

 _“I’m sure we didn’t do anything wrong,”_ Din hears Threepio mutter as the pair heads back toward Luke’s home. _“But if we did, it was entirely your fault.”_

Once the droids are far enough away, Din squats down to Grogu’s level, meeting his curious stare. “Hey kid,” he starts.

Grogu's ears perk upward. “ _Bwuee,”_ he coos.

Din swallows. It’s a cruel fate, reuniting with Grogu only to be separated so soon after. He doesn’t want to break the kid’s heart—but he’d rather Grogu be upset than in danger. Bringing him along would be selfish, a bandage for his own pain more than anything else. 

“You remember when Moff Gideon was searching for you?” Din continues. “Well, whoever attacked me on Jakku, they might be searching for me. Your teacher and I...we think it’s best if we leave for a while, just to be safe. But you’ll need to stay here.” 

The child’s eyes widen.

Luke squats down next to Din, joining the conversation. “We’re only leaving to protect you,” he adds. “The figure who attacked Din was very powerful. We don’t want to put you at risk. You will stay here with Leia and she will continue your training until we return.”

Din reaches out and affectionately strokes the child's left ear. “We’ll come back once it’s safe. I promise.”

Grogu pushes himself up from his seat and crosses the small space between them. He snuggles against Din’s bent leg, wrapping his tiny arms around his calf. 

“He understands,” Luke says. “And he’ll miss you.” 

Din swallows over the growing lump in his throat, willing the tears welling beneath his eyelids not to spill over. He places one hand on the kid’s back. “I’ll miss you too, Grogu.”

After a minute, Grogu releases his grip and waddles over toward Luke. He repeats the motion, hugging the Jedi’s leg, then pulls back and looks up at his teacher.

“I will,” Luke murmurs, answering a question Grogu asked through the force, Din assumes.

Following their exchange, the Jedi lowers himself to the ground fully and sits cross-legged beside his tiny student. “Grogu, there’s one last thing. I need your help.”

The child cocks his head to the side, curious. 

“Remember how we found Din, when he was in pain?” he asks. 

_“Patuu.”_

“I need you to do that again, but this time for Ahsoka Tano. You communicated through the Force when you met. I’m hoping that if you can reopen that connection, I can search through it and locate her.” 

Din assumes Grogu understands his teacher’s request, because the child sits down beside Luke, mimicking his cross-legged position. His wide eyes slip closed as he rests his green claws on top of his bent knees.

“Good,” Luke says, drifting his own eyes closed. “Focus, reach out with your feelings.”

Minutes pass in still silence; neither Master nor student twitch a muscle or release a sound. Din feels strange returning to his feet while the two sit below him, so he lowers himself onto the grass as well, resting an arm atop his perched knees. As he waits, Din can’t help but study the mismatched pair, alike in serenity but different in every other visible trait. The only other instance where he’s witnessed Grogu focus so intensely was on the _Seeing Stone._ At least this time the kid's not generating an impenetrable forcefield. 

Luke, on the other hand…Din hasn’t seen him like this before. He knows the man wields staggering power—he destroyed an entire squadron of Darktroopers while one nearly had Din defeated—but peaceful meditation suits him in a way violence doesn’t. Maybe it's his calm, wise demeanor, maybe it’s his slim stature, or maybe it’s just a Jedi thing. Either way, Din wouldn’t be surprised if he learned the man sat like this every night in lieu of sleeping. 

Din’s broken from his thoughts when Grogu suddenly cracks open his eyes, leaning over to rest against Luke’s thigh. The Jedi awakens from his meditation as well and places one hand on his student’s shoulder. “You did well,” he breathes.

“Is he okay?” he asks.

“He’s fine, just tired,” the Jedi answers. “He isn’t used to this.”

Din swallows, relieved. “So did it work?”

Luke answers with a clipped nod. “She’s on Wobani.”

“That’s Mid-Rim, not far from here,” Din says. “We could be there in a few hours with hyperdrive.”

“I’ll call Leia and have her arrange transport at the hangar. We’ll meet her there.”

◌ ◌ ◌ 

The docking bay bustles with civilians and orange-clad New Republic pilots alike, far busier than it had been the night they arrived. Din’s grateful for Luke’s hooded cloak—loaned to him again by the Jedi with polite insistence—otherwise, his face would be now be known to an entire community. While he’s rationalized revealing himself to Luke and his droids (the Jedi had already seen him, the droids aren’t technically living, just like IG-11 wasn’t), he’d never be able to justify failure on that large a scale. He knows he’ll have to come to terms with his broken helmet soon, but now isn’t the time. 

Din and Luke squeeze through a busy marketplace as they head toward the supply shop where Leia directed them to meet her. In addition to the psychological discomfort born from being maskless in a crowd, he’s also physically uncomfortable: his cumbersome satchel knocks against his hip, heavy with his belongings and supplies, and the weight of his weapons slung over his shoulder triggers pain with each step. After Din refused Luke’s initial offers of assistance, the Jedi insisted he at least carry Grogu in his own satchel. Now, he ignores his discomfort as he follows Luke’s lead, finding relief in the adorable sight of the kid’s tiny ears poking out from the man’s bag as he steals the occasional glance back at Din.

Leia’s already there when they arrive. She’s wearing a white turtleneck and matching pants—with her dark hair tightly woven atop her head, she’s a stark contrast to her brother and his loose bronze bangs and black ensemble. The two greet each other with a quick hug. “You sure about this?” Leia asks. 

“I am.”

His sister’s thin brows knit in concern, but the expression only lasts a moment before she sighs, placing one hand on her hip. “Well, I had Han get you some supplies. He’s picking them up now,” she says, thumbing back toward the shop behind her. “As for a ship that will fit the both of you, I spoke with General Lennox and he said any of those would be available,” she finishes, gesturing toward a squadron of decommissioned New Republic U-Wings lined up in the near distance.

Luke raises his brows.“ _Those?_ We haven’t flown them in years, since the Rebellion even—”

“We can’t spare any active ships right now, you know that Luke,” Leia interrupts. “Not with Imperial Remnants popping up like wildfire.” 

Din swallows. New model or not, he’s worried flying a New Republic ship may draw unwarranted attention, especially on Wobani. During the Empire’s reign, the planet was home to some of the galaxy’s hardest prisons and labor camps, and even though the Rebellion has since freed the camps, some of the prisons are still in operation under New Republic rule. The last time he was there, he witnessed the disdain many settlements had for both the Empire and the Republic, especially those who were freed from the camps only to find poverty on the streets. He’s never made it a habit to insert himself into politics, but he guesses explaining that situation wouldn’t go over too well with a woman who’s clearly connected to the Republic—even though Din isn’t sure of her exact role. 

The Jedi squares his jaw. “Leia, if we’re up against the Dark Side we’ll need something faster than a decommissioned starfighter.” 

The woman’s brown eyes spark, nose flaring. _“The Dark Side?”_ she hisses under her breath as if the words are a curse forbidden to be spoken aloud. “Luke, you did not say that when you called, I thought you were hunting for the criminal that attacked him!”

“We are,” the blonde counters. 

Leia glances at Din, brown eyes wild, then stares back at her brother. “How is that—we—”

“I don’t know,” Luke says. “We’re not sure yet, but it’s possible.”

The woman sighs, running a hand over her crown of braids. “Luke, I have to notify the Senate.”

_Senate? How many connections does Luke’s sister have?_

“No, not yet,” Luke pleads. "We need to be discreet for now, another reason a New Republic ship may not be the best idea.” 

“I agree,” Din chimes in from behind his hood, taking the opportunity to voice his concerns. “It might draw attention.”

Luke glances at Din, nods. “It’s settled then. We’ll need something different.” 

“The Falcon’s not an option if that’s what you’re getting at,” comes a voice behind Leia. It belongs to a tall, fluffy-haired man who’d just emerged from the shop door carrying a large supply bag. He seems a bit older than the siblings, around Din’s age maybe. _Han,_ he guesses.

“Han,” Luke greets, confirming Din’s suspicions.

“I wasn’t kidding, kid,” the man answers, dropping the satchel to the ground with a soft thud to point an accusatory finger Luke’s way. “She’s off-limits. Not after you scrammed the negative power coupling.”

“I assure you that wasn’t us,” the Jedi responds.

“Alright already, enough with the theatrics,” Leia says, lightly whacking Han’s chest with the back of her hand. “Did you get what I asked for?”

“Of course, _Your Worship,”_ Han answers, slinging an arm over Leia’s shoulders.“Two week’s supply of rations, bacta swabs, towels, stock for the refresher—”

Leia lifts her hands. “Okay, I got it.” 

“Thank you for this, Han. Thank you both,” Luke says, gesturing to the bag of supplies. “It’s very generous.”

Han smiles, closed-lipped. “That’s what family’s for, kid,” he says. “Plus, don’t tell me you forgot how rich your sister is.”

 _“Ha-ha,”_ Leia monotones. 

Then, as if finally noticing his presence, Han turns his attention to Din. He squints and reaches out with a pointed finger. “You the Mandalorian?”

“Yes.” 

“Huh,” the man hums. “Wasn’t sure with the uh, hood and all. Hey, did you know Boba Fett?”

Leia elbows Han gently. “Stop it, Han. Not all Mandalorians know one another.”

Din appreciates the woman’s attempt to dispel a stereotype about his people, but in this instance….well, he does. “I do.”

Han’s brows shoot up his forehead, an amused grin breaking out on his lips. “Did you hear that, sweetheart? He knew him.” 

He’s not sure why they’re referring to Fett in the past tense, but he’s not interested enough to question it. They have more important things to attend to at the moment. Luke mirrors the sentiment when he steps forward, arms crossed. “To your earlier question, no, I wasn’t considering the Falcon,” the Jedi begins. “Though we do need a fast model that can fit us both. No New Republic association. Maybe transport.”

“Fast, spacious, and discreet, huh?” Han answers. “Well, I may just know a guy. Don’t think it’s smart bringing the kid into that part of town, though,” he adds, gesturing to where Grogu has popped out of Luke’s satchel. 

“Maybe we should split up here,” Leia offers. 

Luke glances back at Din, as if asking permission. He nods once in response. 

_Now or never._

The Jedi pulls Grogu from his bag and carries the child across the short distance between him and Din. “He’d like to hug you goodbye,” Luke murmurs, meant for Din’s ears only.

Throat tightening, Din pulls Grogu into his arms and presses him against his cloaked chest. When he pulls back, the kid clings his claws to his hood, refusing to let go.

“It’s okay, I’ll be back soon. I promise,” he whispers. “I’m so happy I got to see you, Grogu.” 

When the kid finally releases his hood, Luke returns and scoops him back into his arms. “Be good,” he whispers before transferring him to his sister's embrace.

Leia cradles Grogu comfortably, the position natural and practiced from having a child of her own. She offers him a finger with a sweet smile, which the kid takes into both claws without argument. “Of course he will,” she says.

Luke smiles. “Thank you, Leia.”

“You’re welcome,” she responds, lifting herself up on her tip-toes to place a quick kiss to the side of his cheek. “Be careful, Luke. I mean it.” 

“I will.” 

Leia looks at Din. “You too.”

Han lifts the bag up he'd deposited on the ground and slings it over his shoulder. “Follow me,” he says to Luke and Din. “My speeder’s not far.” 

Fifteen minutes later, they arrive at an outpost in the Gamma Sector, a separate community populated with cantinas, restaurants, and other less… _reputable_ businesses. According to Han, it’s not officially recognized as part of the New Republic Colony, but pilots and officials alike have been spotted frequenting the outpost when in need of a cheap drink. 

They park their speeder in a vacant lot outside a sprawling junkyard. In the distance, Din spots what looks like a series of transport vessels, but he can’t decipher the make or model from this far away.

“So who are we meeting, exactly?” Luke asks as they depart the speeder and walk toward the front entrance.

“He goes by Big Kota, but no one knows his real name,” Han replies. “Used to do some runs together back on Corellia. Haven’t seen him in years. Once I heard he’d set up shop here, well…I’ve been meaning to pop by for a visit. He owes me 10,000 credits.”

“So he’s a smuggler,” Luke clarifies.

“ _Former_ smuggler. From what I hear now, he refurbishes old ships, makes ‘em perfect for his…clientele.”

The Jedi raises a brow. “Of smugglers.”

“C’mon kid, give me a break. You asked me to help, so I’m helping.”

“I have no trouble with smugglers,” Luke says. “I’m friends with you, aren’t I?”

Han points at Din. “What about you, Mando? You hunt any smugglers?”

Din shrugs. “I hunt anyone I’m paid to hunt.” 

Solo snorts. “Fair enough.”

As they approach the junkyard entrance, a small man walks out toward them. He's short enough that from far away Din might have mistaken him for a child, but this close there’s no mistaking his goatee and mustache. 

“Big Kota,” Han greets.

The man squints up at him. “ _Han Solo?_ My eyes trickin’ me?”

“They seem to be working just fine.” 

“It _is_ you! Well I’ll be, it’s been a while,” Kota says. He gestures to Din and Luke. “These your friends?”

“They’re looking for a ship. Thought you could help us.”

Kota eyes the trio. “How’d you know about that?” 

“Come on, Kota,” Han says with a cock of his head. “Don’t play dumb. Doesn’t suit you.” 

“Alright, alright. What’re you lookin’ for?” 

“Something big enough for two, fast, untraceable,” Han instructs. “Nothing Rebel or New Republic affiliated, get it?”

The man nods his head, rubbing at his goatee. “Have a few things in mind. How much you got to spend?”

“After what you pulled on Serenno?" Han smirks, void of any good humor. "Think you owe me this one.”

Kota hovers his hand over his hip. Din spots the glint of a blaster beneath his belt. “Think you owe _me_ after what _you_ pulled.”

“Well, I’ll have you know my _wife_ is a—” 

Luke steps forward, blocking Han from the smaller man. “You would like to loan us the ship we desire,” he says, waving his hand.

Big Kota drops his hand from his hip. “You know what, I would like to loan you a ship.”

“It’s the least you can do after stealing Han’s money,” Luke adds.

“S’the least I can do after forgettin’ to pay Han back.”

" _Forgetting?”_ Han hisses. He laughs humorlessly. “Oh, that’s rich.” 

“Han,” Luke interrupts, blue eyes glancing back at his friend.

Solo collects himself with a deep breath. “Yeah, sounds great,” he says to Kota. “Show us what you got.”

“C’mon, this way,” the man says, waving them over to a path that leads through the junkyard.

“Thanks, kid,” Han whispers as they walk past a giant pile of discarded engine parts.

“I didn’t do it lightly,” Luke answers, sparing a glance in Din’s direction. 

“Desperate times, I get it,” Han says.

Din stays silent, unsure what to say. Did Luke just _control_ Kota’s mind? He’s partially unsettled by the act—he can’t help but wonder if the Jedi has tricked _him,_ though his gut feels otherwise—and partially…amazed. That skill certainly would have saved him headaches and money on more than one occasion during his past bounties. 

After a few minutes, the former smuggler brings them to a row of three ships. He’s never seen models like this before—they seem to be hybrids modified from disparate parts of different ship classes. One catches his eye in particular: two wings equipped with massive gun-class laser cannons angle upward out of the body of a slender transport vessel, like a hawk suspended in mid-flight.

“What’s that one?” he asks.

“Good taste,” Kota says. “Call that one _Avenger_. Military-grade armor and plating, cloak-sequence radar deflection, all the latest computer navigating tech, autopilot, you name it. It’s got four laser cannons, two forward-mounted, two in the rear, two engines, and a hyperdrive that will get you up to 300 parsecs per hour. Co-pilot optional, fits up to 6 passengers.” 

“May we look inside?” Luke asks. 

“Yep, one minute, lemme uh, just find the key…” Kota pats his chest, his belt, then finally reaches into his pocket and pulls out a jangling set of ship keys. He slips one key from the connector ring, then points it at the ship and _clicks_. The docking ramp lowers from the chest of the body. “That’s the one.” 

The group enters the _Avenger_ —while it’s not the newest model he’s flown, it’s more spacious than the _Razor Crest_ , and far more updated than the pile of junk he left on Jakku. 

“Here you got cargo, maintenance access,” Big Kota says, waving his hand as he tours the group through the ship. “Down that way will take you to the rear gunner hatch.” 

They follow Kota down a long hall, watching as he points to different locations along the way. “Storage, water tanks, refresher, passageway to the left will take you to the kitchenette, hallway to the right leads to the passenger bunks. And here we got the Captain’s Quarters, one bed and one bunk, but like I said if you got more company there’s the passenger room.” 

They stop when they reach the cockpit. There are four seats in total, a pilot and co-pilot closest to the command board, then two behind for additional passengers. 

Luke turns, looking at Din. “What do you think?”

“Good with me.” 

The Jedi nods. “We’ll take it,” he says, turning back toward Kota. 

“She’s all yours,” he responds, tossing the keys which Luke easily catches with his gloved hand. 

Han drops the supply bag from his shoulder onto the floor, then cocks his head at Kota. “Give us a minute, will you?” 

“Course. Safe travels,” Kota says. He begins walking down the hallway, then stops suddenly, turning back around. “Remember, she’s a loan. Any damage and I’ll have to charge when you return—” 

“That’s great, thanks Kota,” Han cuts in. He waves the man off with a faux-smile, then drops the expression promptly once he's left the ship.

“Thank you, Han,” Luke says. 

Solo turns around to face them. “Don’t mention it,” he says. He reaches out and pats the Jedi’s shoulder affectionately. “You take care of yourself kid, you hear?”

“I will.” 

Han moves his hand toward Din’s arm as if he means to repeat the action, but stops at the last minute. Instead, he pats his bicep once—more a tap than anything. 

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. Good luck or uh… _may the Force be with you.”_

Luke smiles gently. “And also with you.” 

Without anyone else to distract from the mission at hand after Han departs, the two fall to an easy silence as they prepare for take-off. They store away their bags, supplies, and weapons, then return to the cockpit and settle into their seats.

“I’ll program Wobani into the system,” Luke says as Din pulls his seatbelt across his chest.

“Anywhere in particular?”

“Not yet. I’ll see what my senses tell me once we get closer.”

Din nods. 

With practiced ease, the blonde punches the coordinates into the nav and flips on switch after switch, commencing take-off protocol as if he’d owned the ship for years. Din considers himself a skilled pilot, but even he would need at least a few minutes to familiarize himself with the command dashboard. He wonders if the man’s expertise can be attributed to his attuned Jedi senses, or if he also happens to be an ace pilot in addition to…well, everything else.

Luke pushes a button on the control panel. “Says it will take about 2 hours on hyperdrive.”

“Not bad.”

“Beta Command?” Luke asks.

Din roves his eyes across his side of the dashboard but can’t find the button, hood obstructing much of his peripheral vision. Now that they’re alone, he feels comfortable removing his cloak since Luke had seen him all yesterday and this morning, but the action still makes him nervous. Pushing the hood away from his face, Din allows the material to slip down his neck and pool atop his shoulders. Vision unobstructed, he spots the Delta button on the right-hand panel. 

“On,” he answers, glancing at Luke. Their gazes meet, blue eyes stalling as he’s met with Din’s bare face rather than his hood. 

Luke clears his throat, then returns his attention to the dashboard. He pushes on the Alpha Command, then flips on the engines. The ship roars to life, generators and motors whirring. 

“Here we go,” he says before pulling down on the flight lever. The ship ascends into the air then blasts off into the sky.

◌ ◌ ◌ 

After activating hyperdrive once beyond Yavin’s atmosphere, the pair switch on auto-pilot and head into the kitchenette. 

“Might as well eat while we can,” Luke says, carrying over two ration packs. Din inspects his meal: Nut bread, dried Koyo fruit, a packet of nutrient paste, and nuna jerky.

“Thanks.” 

They sit across from one another at the bistro table that extends from the left wall, falling into silence again as they eat their respective packs. The table’s a little over a foot in length, and this close Din can see Luke’s golden eyelashes, the pores on his nose, the subtle traces of scars on his right cheek. Between Luke’s mature wisdom and boyish looks, Din isn’t sure how old the man is, but he’d be surprised if he’s older than 30. Definitely younger than himself, at least. The comparison triggers a wave of self-consciousness; while he maintains his grooming to his own standards, he’s obviously not used to anyone seeing him, especially not this close up. At least the table they shared this morning allowed him more space. Pushing the thought away, he tears open his jerky packaging and takes a generous bite. 

Now that they’ve embarked on their quest, a new nervousness settles over Din. He’s no stranger to difficult assignments—he’s survived many bounties that have lasted torturous months with little respite—but he’s never faced anything like this. _Kriff,_ a day ago he didn’t even know the Sith existed. The more he learns about the Force, the less he can believe he of all people has been swept up in this. He’s Mandalorian, not Jedi. This shouldn’t be the Way.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? This _isn’t_ the Way. He's gone two days straight without his helmet and now he's chasing phantoms with a Jedi. Yes, his life may be at risk, leaving him no choice but to follow this path, but perhaps he's brought this madness on himself. Maybe fate is punishing him because he broke his Creed, because he no longer follows the Way.

Because he’s no longer Mandalorian. 

“Have you been to Wobani before?” Luke asks then, breaking Din from his thoughts. The blonde takes a bite from his nut bread, seemingly unaware of his partner’s spiraling mental state. 

Din swallows his jerky. “A few times. You?”

“No,” Luke admits.

“Can be rough.”

Luke nods. “I’ve heard. I wanted to go a few months ago, but Leia sent New Republic emissaries instead.”

Din scrunches his brows. People go to Wobani because they _have_ to, not because they want to. “Why did you want to go?”

“As a Jedi, it’s my responsibility to bring peace,” he answers as if it’s a fact known to the whole universe.

“Don't think Wobani’s problems are something one person can mend.” 

“That’s what Leia said.”

Once finished with his jerky, Din rips open his nutrient pack and squeezes, inspecting the color of the paste. Orange peeks out of the tear—he’s still not sure what flavor it’s supposed to replicate, but orange has always been his least favorite. 

“May I ask you something?” Luke continues.

Din looks up, forgoing his packet inspection.

The Jedi leans his elbows on the table and crosses his arms. “After we meet with Ahsoka— _if_ we meet her—should we find someone who can fix your helmet?”

He blanches. “What?”

“I know it’s part of your Creed,” Luke clarifies, the slightest flush coloring the man’s cheeks. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

_You’re not,_ Din almost says, which is what _actually_ makes him uncomfortable.

“It’s complicated,” he says, his own cheeks warming. “But you—you’ve done nothing wrong.” 

“Okay,” Luke murmurs, skeptical.

Din exhales deep, willing his heart-rate to slow. “In my religion, you are forbidden from removing your helmet under any circumstances. If you do, you are no longer Mandalorian. You no longer have the right to wear your helmet. I don’t know if I can wear mine again, let alone fix it.” 

Luke furrows his brows. “I don’t understand.”

“The is the Way.”

Luke frowns. “Maybe there are different ways to live as a Mandalorian—” 

“There is only one Way.”

Luke goes quiet, eyes drifting off into the distance. “I may not know much about your code, but I do know about the Jedi’s. In some regards, I think their failure to adapt made them more vulnerable to the Dark Side.”

The Jedi pauses, blue gaze returning to his own. “Our galaxy is constantly changing, Din. We’re fools if we think we shouldn’t have to change along with it.” 

For a moment, Din can only stare, entranced by the Jedi’s earnestness. The weight of both the man’s statement and gaze overwhelm him, so he flicks his eyes downward, unsure how to respond.

“I’m sorry,” Luke says. “You barely know me. It’s not my place to tell you what you should believe.”

Din swallows, eyes still locked downward. “I don’t know what I believe,” he admits.

Several beats pass in total silence. When Din finally glances back upward, he finds Luke frowning, brows wrought in deep concern. He’s about to apologize, assure the man that this is _his_ problem to deal with, when Luke closes his eyes.

“I’m sorry—I’m not. I just saw something.”

Din blinks. “What?”

“About Ahsoka,” Luke breathes. “There was an abandoned camp. Dust everywhere—no, _ash_. And there was this huge…spear shooting straight up into the sky. I don’t know…”

Something clicks in Din’s mind. “Spear? Like a control tower?” 

Luke blinks open his eyes. “You know it?”

“There’s an abandoned labor camp in Bryx that has a command tower like that. Always thought it looked like a needle.”

“Bryx,” Luke repeats. “Let’s program those coordinates into the navigation. Thank you, Din.” 

Din doesn’t deserve any thanks—Luke just had a literal _vision_ that revealed a major lead. He barely did anything. 

“You’re welcome,” he answers anyway. 

◌ ◌ ◌

They land the _Avenger_ in a muddy field nearby the old labor camp, just outside a village. _Village_ may be too kind a word for the rundown, ash-ridden neighborhood— _slums would be more accurate,_ Din thinks. Hardened countenances stare as the pair walk through the community on their way to the camp, likely suspicious of their sudden appearance.

“This is unconscionable,” Luke mutters. “These people do not deserve to live like this.” 

Din nods from beneath his cloak’s hood. “No one does.”

“Leia told me how bad it’s gotten, but…” he trails off, words forgotten as he stares at a relief supply crate sitting on the side of the road. The blue New Republic sigil has been caked over with mud—and a variety of lewd graffiti. 

“They’re not too fond of the Republic. No offense.”

“None taken,” Luke says. “I can see why.”

A young girl stands at the edge of the next path, her woven dress stained with soot and mud. She seems lost, all alone—Din’s chest constricts at the sight. Luke must feel the same, because he walks ahead of Din and makes his way to the girl, then bends down as soon as he’s close enough. “Are you alright?” he asks.

The girl stares at him.

“Are you lost? Is your family nearby?”

She stays silent, face emotionless.

“You must be hungry,” Luke adds. 

Din digs into his satchel and pulls out his uneaten nut bread he’d packed just in case. “Here,” he says, squatting down to hand the girl the ration. “Take this.”

The child accepts the packaged bread and looks down to where she balances it between her small hands. When she glances back up, she stares Luke dead in the eyes. “Ahsoka is waiting for you.”

Chills run down Din’s spine. _What did she just say?_

“Where,” Luke asks, this question laced with desperation more than concern. 

_“The tower,_ ” she whispers before running off through a maze of tents, bread in hand.

Luke stands and glances at Din with wide eyes. 

Din swallows. “How—”

“I don’t know,” the Jedi answers. 

They both stare into the distance and gaze at the silhouette of a lofty, pointed tower.

◌ ◌ ◌

“Well, don’t think I can jump that high,” Luke says, staring up at the massive needle-like structure from where they stand below.

At first Din assumes that's a joke, but based on the Jedi's expression he realizes Luke’s being serious. “Please don’t tell me you can fly too.”

Luke glances at him with an air of amusement. “No, I can’t fly.”

“Too bad I don’t have my jetpack,” Din adds. “Guess we’re climbing.” 

“Are you sure? I could go alone. I know you’ve been in pain.”

Din steps up onto the first rung, tugs at it to judge its support. Seems sturdy enough.

“I’ll be fine,” he says before pulling himself up the next step. 

After a moment, he hears Luke follow behind him.

They arrive on the access balcony at the tip of the transmission beacon about 20 minutes later. They slowly follow the curved walkway around the structure, careful not to lose their balance given the gusts of dusty wind and flimsy railings that would do little to stop them from plunging to their deaths. As they round one side, they finally see her—hands perched on the balustrade, staring out over the fields below as if she’s the sullen queen of this ashy kingdom. 

“I’ve been expecting you,” Ahsoka says, unfazed by their appearance. She turns calmly and pushes her hood from her head. “Luke Skywalker.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 👀👀👀👀
> 
> Leave a comment below and lemme know what you think!


End file.
